Merchurdon. One of Myriat’s oldest and most mysterious cities. The sky was always grey, even at the brightest times of the day – not because of the weather, but because of all the smog and pollution that hung in the air, like one large dark cloud. The Myriat Industrial Revolution had brought its disadvantages as well as advantages.

Along the streets, walkways and alleyways, things weren’t much better. Today was foggy, a thin smear of grey hung in the air, making everything that little bit darker. Visibility wasn’t too bad, however, and despite the overcast sky, occasional patches on pale sunlight streamed through, casting a few lighter shades into the gloom, basking everything in an ethereal glow.

~*~

SOMEWHERE IN THE CITY

A small waif-like girl tread her way carefully about the streets bare foot, keeping her head low. “Can I offer you’re a tour around Merchurdon, Sirs? It only costs a penny.”The group of gentleman that past the girl simply laughed, continuing on their way.

Elizabeth Taylor turned away, her gaze falling to the floor. She spotted another, a lady this time. The elf girl ran up to her hopefully. The lady smiled underneath her parasol, shaking her head.

It was the same everyday. Occasionally she got lucky, and then she would just have enough coins to get something to eat. But it took a lot of work to earn enough to survive. Sometimes she had to steal to stop herself dying from hunger…or sickness.

The small shop burst into life, as almost every (working) grandfather and cuckoo clock in the facility struck eight. None of the clocks were completely in time with each other either, filling the air with irregular sounds of chimes, gongs, whistles and hoots.

Lying on his bed upstairs, Angelo groaned, throwing a pillow up over his head. He should have been used to the ruckus by now – he’d been living just above his family’s old shop for long enough. And yet still without fail, every morning it startled him awake. He really didn’t know why after living here so long, his mind treated the noise as if he’d only been here a few weeks.

Getting up, he quickly dressed and got himself cleaned up, ready to begin a day of work. It was a humble little shop he and his sister worked in…a shop tucked away in a quiet side road, just off the main high street. They had lived and worked here for as long as Angelo could remember, helping their Uncle, Geoffrey Pemberton. One day they would have to take his place, running the Clockwork shop like their father and Geoffrey once had. Two siblings, running the family business side by side. As was always the way.

If the business is still afloat by that time, that is, Angelo thought grimly. Imperium bastards. It was thanks to the Imperium they had lost their father. When they had first taken over, a riot had taken over the streets, as various criminals decided to ‘celebrate’. Shops had been raided, buildings burnt to the ground, innocent people slaughtered. Angelo and Penna’s father had got caught up in the mob, taking several stab wounds to the chest.

The blonde-haired boy reached inside his breast pocket, pulling out his father’s pocket watch, rubbing his thumb over the gold hunter casing. He’d left it behind in the shop, the day he died. His will had been read out – he had left the watch to Angelo and his sister. The twins kept it on themselves all the time. Angelo never let the watch out of his sight. He told himself, told himself that they would use that watch to bring down the government. 'Delusions of grandeur', his twin often told him.

Speaking of which...

“Angelo!” His twin swept past him on the stairs, elbowing him, “Stop looking at the watch like it owes you something, and shift yourself. Geoffrey’s gone out; that means we’ve got to mind the shop. You take to sorting, examining and fixing (make yourself useful and tidy up the mess Geoffrey left in the workshop, will you?), I’ll manage the business side of things, customers, and display up front. Got it?”

Angelo blinked, his sister’s bossy behaviour tearing him from his thoughts. “Uh…yeah, sure. That’s fine.” He carefully slipped the ‘Stop’Watch back into his pocket, joining his sister in the shop downstairs. He disappeared into the workshop, though the door behind the counter.

Penna meanwhile, started arranging things at the front of the shop – the potion of the clock makers which would be viewed by the general public. She shifted boxes into their proper place, checked all the clocks on display were working and set at the correct time, dusted, swept the floor, and finally neatened herself up, before switching the placard at the front door to read ‘OPEN’.

She positioned herself behind the counter, smoothing out her dress and waiting for the first customers to arrive. Hoping they wouldn’t get too many thieves today. The air filled with the constant, soothing ticking of many clocks.

Deep within the city’s scrap yard was a makeshift home hidden by heaps of junk that no one used anymore. It stood one and a half stories above the ground, its corners angled in seemingly impossible ways. In fact, the makeshift house looked like it could collapse at any given time. There seemed to be no single medium used for the construction of such a structure. There were visible scraps of wood piled unto more scraps of wood with overlaying cloths and blankets. Old, broken window sills were used for windows, stuck into the strangest places. Covering the windows were shower curtains hanging off of shower rods. The roofs were mostly metal and the base supports were bricks piled up on one another. There was a single wooden door in the structure’s front, slightly lopsided to the left with broken hedges. Leading up to it was a simple wooden stepladder which seemed out of place and was missing one step. Meanwhile sprouting from the roof was a single croaked pipe, from which smoke spouted every now and then. Small boys would see this strange house, and dare each other to sneak into it. There were tales of a ghoul, haunting the insides of the makeshift building. According to the folklore, the man stole the faces of many a person. And the ghoul’s name was The Honest Abe.

A figure opened the lopsided door as morning came. It wore a tall top hat on its head which was as black as his knickers and long vest. Up on top of the roof of the house the figure came out of was a pair of chirping birds resting in a nest. The figure looked up at the birds with a charming smile, such charming birds they were, and wonderful singers too. After stopping to listen for a while, the figure began climbing the makeshift house, his pitch black eyes focused on his targets. A plenty of meters away, a couple of boys watched the figure through binoculars.

“Lookit there. See? Told you it was ‘aunted” said the one boy while handing his partner his binoculars and pointing to the ghoul.“Bloody ‘ell, y’re roight!” the other boy exclaimed, “Wot d’you suppose ‘e is then?”“Billy told me ‘e’s wot folks call a ghoul.”“A ghoul? Wotzat?”“They say they steal folks’ faces.”“Why’d they want ter do ‘at for?”“Who knows, maybe it’s ‘cuz they ‘ave no real face of their own.”

The figure that was climbing the makeshift house had reached the top of its roof, where the birds’ nest laid near the chimney. It struggled to shift its feet as it seemed to be in danger of falling at any moment. The boys watched in awe as the figure neared the two birds who were chirping frantically.

“Blimey, Roger! Wot’s ‘e doin’ ter them poor birds?”The boy called Roger snatched the binoculars from his partner. Looking through them he said, “Why! ‘E’s stealin’ their eggs!”

Sure enough the figure snatched a half a dozen eggs from the birds’ next, putting them inside his top hat. The birds reacted violently. “Serves ‘im roight”, Roger had muttered at that very moment. The figure fought the birds off with the use of what looked like a cane, swinging away at them wildly. “Come on birds, get ‘im” muttered Roger. “Come on! Let me see!” complained the boy next to him. The two birds were unfortunately defeated in their attempts to save their offspring. “Oh no!” “Wot? Wot’s ‘appenin’?” Roger watched as the figure lowered himself down with the eggs still inside his top hat. Sighing, he turned to his partner. “Let’s go Timmy, before ‘e sees us.” “I don’ get it. Wot ‘appened ter them birds? Wot about the eggs? Wot did ‘e do, Roger?” The two boys both looked back at the house together, only to find that the ghoul had disappeared.

----The Scrap yard, “The Garage”----

”Ah! Pigeon eggs! An excellent breakfast if I do say so myself” said Abraham triumphantly as he scanned the contents of his top hat. Six perfect pigeon eggs. Abraham’s mouth watered just thinking about how good these eggs would taste. ”I’d have to thank those two pigeons later.” The ghoul said as he walked in between outfits that were hanging up in various places as if the inside of “The Garage” was a gigantic closet. Each outfit conveyed a different role, from a toymaker to a hatter. Some were hanged on ship wheels impaled on a hat pole so that the spun around, others were hanging from shower rods. Pieces of parchment with little notes on them indicated what roles each outfit fitted. Some had special markings that marked them off as Abraham’s favorites. Abraham danced through the many outfits, reaching The Garage’s “kitchen” which was filled with a makeshift table surrounded by plenty of crates and boxes. Near the table was a crooked window that was missing its glass from which sunlight poured from unfiltered. On top of the table was a single vase with a single dying flower that sagged over the piece of ceramic. Near the table itself, was a wooden counter where hooks were nailed onto the walls from which hung various pots and pans. The wooden counter showed signs of being eaten away by termites over a number of years with a number of holes drilled into the sides and such. If one were to look inside the cabinet they would see nothing but cobwebs and bugs along with a number of bowls and plates while inside the cabinet’s drawers were various forks, spoons and knifes that varied in size, shape and medium. Many of the silverware and dishes seemed dirty and unwashed. It was pretty unsanitary really. Next to the wooden cabinet was a furnice which was presumably connected to the pipe that served as the house’s chimney. The ghoul grabbed a copper pan and emptied the eggs’ contents unto it. Flinging the furnace’s door open, he casually feed the flames using a ripped fan plunging the pan into the burning flames once he felt the fire was hot enough. As he waited for the eggs to cook, the ghoul whistled a little tune to himself.

Minutes later, the ghoul sat at the makeshift table, smelling the freshly cooked eggs with a nose he doesn’t have. They certainly smelled delicious. With the use of a wooden spoon that would normally be used for stirring batter the ghoul began eating his meal while thinking about the day ahead of him. He wondered what he would go out as today. Perhaps he would pose as a toy salesman. There was bound to be children out there with rich parents who couldn’t help but buy expensive things for their spoiled brats. And he just had the perfect batch of toys too. The ghoul let out a low chuckle. Oh yes, today was going to be a fine day.

----The Busy Streets of Central Merchurdon----

Riding down the streets of Merchurdon was a man who looked like he was in his mid-thirties. His head was without a hat, which broadcasted a mess of curly red hair. Underneath the bangs the man had kind-looking blue eyes which had a tired look to them as if the man had stayed up beyond late hours. In between those eyes was a nose and under that nose was the making of a mustache which was neatly trimmed at the sides. The man wore a blue pinstripe shirt along with a red colored bowtie. Over his shirt he wore a brown leather apron that was tied in the back. For pants he wore black knickers along with brown leather shoes. The man was riding on top of a metallic two-wheeled bike with its front wheel bigger than the back. Behind him was a cart full of dolls, hoops, board games, bags of toys, and a single toy theatre that shined in all its brilliance. The cart was attached to the bike through the use of a chain, so that whenever the bicycle turned it turned. The man stopped the cart on the side of a busy street and dismounted the bike.

”Ladies and Gentlemen, I know that your childrenAre rowdy and rude from dawn until dusk.Sometimes their minds are dreadfully boredAnd their intelligence is turning to mush!

Please do not fret, women and children.I have a solution. I assure you its well.Toys and games, puzzles and dollies.Wonderful recreation, how they are swell!

Would you require a small tin soldier?Would you require tops, or perhaps whirli-gigs?Maybe a yo-yo? Or a bag full of marbles?Or would you rather play with knucklebones and sticks?

For the young ladies, I have plenty of dollies,A game of good graces for propriety.There’s nothing far better than playing together.Can you keep a hoop rolling? Just try it and see!”

After singing his little song, the man spotted a little girl walking around the streets barefooted. He dealt with the children that came to his cart in an absent minded manner, the girl was homeless he could tell. After all he had to go through the same sort of turmoil that is survival based on wit when he was her age. Too bad this probably meant the girl had no money. He ignored her for the moment, focusing on the demanding screams of the children. How annoying they were, but they were the key to making money. It only took a matter of time until he could convince their parents to buy his products.

”Ma’am! Would you be interested in buying this priceless Porcelian Doll for your little lady? See her golden curls, her beautiful dress? Perfect for a tea party! And she’s in need of a friend. I believe your daughter would do quite nicely.”

”Sir! Your son seems like a fine young lad. In fact he seems like he would make an excellent general for the army. Why don’t you start his training early and purchase these one-of-kind tin soldiers, hand sculpted and hand painted, they will follow your son’s every older without fail. With them, you can win almost any battle, and they are loyal to the bitter end!”

The man continued to make sales pitches, attempting to capture the interests of the headstrong parents with money jingling in their pockets and handbags. They were difficult to say the least, many were not in the mood to buy their children what they perceived to be junk, and some would grab their children by the hand and pull them away before the merchant could make any progress. However, the merchant was persistent, and he still had not pitched his most prized product yet. He just needed someone rich enough…

Last edited by sam4books on Thu Jul 29, 2010 9:04 am, edited 1 time in total.

Enine awoke, staring straight up at the ceiling. “It's begun. . .” He said quietly to himself. He got up off his bed, he was fully dressed for a visit to town, it seemed he had only been napping. He took a quick glance into a mirror hanging on his wall. “One should always keep their appearance in top shape. . .” He said, smoothing down his hair. He let out a sigh as a sign of his contentedness. After a few moments he was at the entrance hallway to the town outside. He carried a piece of parchment with him, it had writing on hit in a column. It was a simple shopping list.

He gave it a scan before putting it into his breast-pocket. Everything seemed in order. He then casually clapped his hands once.

“Siestas.” He said calling them into being. All four appeared in a line before him, all saluting, of course.

“Good, now someone's to guard the mansion while I'm gone, accounts of petty theft have been on the rise lately. And remember: a dead body is less of a hassle then a live one, be sure you cleanly kill whatever fool decides to steal from me.”

Enine crossed his arms and started tapping his foot as he thought of who to let stay on guard duty. There was plenty of stuff on the list, so Enine would have to make one of them don their “covert clothing” because he didn't want to walk through town with a brightly colored military servant.

“556 , you're it again considering I can't leave these other two here or they'll have a nervous breakdown”“Hey!”“I-It's not our fault!”“I understand, sir.” 556 answered quietly back, a smile on her face, she quickly faded into invisibility.

“As for you other three. . .I just need one to come with me, the others I'll hold in reserve. 00, if you would kindly change uniforms. . .”

“Roger that, sir” Interrupted 00 She disappeared and reappeared, this time in the cloths of a maid. The Bunny-ears, however, could not be removed, Enine knew this and didn't care, he was only going for subtlety not outright stealth. She was, as usual, without expression. Both 45 and 410 vanished, 410 with a pout and 45 with a nervous “Nyeh heh heh”. Enine was left with 00 standing before him. 556 was still in the house but she was, of course, invisible.

Enine then exited the house, 00 in tow. He walked down the walkway to the large houses gates. Stopping Enine looked up at the sky. It was day but he could barely make out the moon. “Tonight is the night, for the moon is at its fullest. . .” Enine said to himself. 00 opened the gate for Enine and both exited, walking down the the street to the market district of the town.

-----------

Enine arrived at his target destination with plenty of time to spare. 00 followed behind, a solemn expression on her face (as usual) Walking down the street with his hands behind his back Enine spotted a street vendor making his rounds. Immediately Enine could ever so slightly "see" something was up with the man, but it was nothing more then a hunch. And nothing to cause Enine to be cautious, most likely some street illusion magic to fool the locals into buying whatever junk this man had magicked into looking nice.

"Humph." Enine chuckled as he slowly walked up behind the crowd. Enine made sure to not get too close and also to turn down the magic he fed into it down a few good notches, so even if he did get close nothing would happen. He didn't want to ruin this random vendors show with his rule-breaker. It was more amusing seeing the man fool everyone else into thinking they would get what they payed for.

The instant that he was remotely conscious, Doctor Billiam Beleraphon abruptly lept out of bed and stood with his fists upon his waistline, bearing himself to the world of his bedchamber, as he did every morning. With a jovial jaunt, he strolled over to his wardrobe, thrusting his elbows forward in merriment. He flung the doors open and decked himself in his usual attire, including a rose plucked from a jar and daintily secured into his front jacket pocket.

Once he was formally outfitted, he skipped down the stairs of his abode, tossed his cane up from its container beside the front door, and thrust the door open. He shut the door behind him but refused to lock it. If anyone wanted my things badly enough, they were welcome to them, he had always thought. He exaggeratedly inhaled the air around him.

"Ah, the wonderful smell of smog and putridity in the morning."

The doctor decided to take a different route this day. He spun his cane around his wrist as he walked, not caring if anything - or anyone - were hit in the process. As he strolled, he came upon a peculiar clock shop. It wasn't particularly peculiar in appearance; it was peculiar because Billiam had never noticed it before, having not taken this route frequently. He was reminded to look at his pocket watch, which he pulled from his inner coat pocket. He popped it open and glared at it for several seconds. It did not move.

"Odd, I'd never noticed that before. I had just assumed that it was always three-twenty-three post-meridiem."

He pushed the shop's door open and approached the counter, where a mistress attended.

Tempest stared at the large, dark building in front of her and she raised her hand to knock, but decided against it and simply opened the door. The smell of blood, sweat, sex and booze hit her sensitive nose and she openly scowled, before walking up a staircase. She could hear various sounds of people arguging and fighting, to the disgusting moans and groans of people who paid for 'extensive' pleasure.

Tempest opened another door at the top of the staircase and it lead her into what could be called a bar. Women and men of various ages all sat around gambling, talking, drinking and/or otherwise indulging themselves.

Tempest pulled her hood up over her head and moved forward, keeping to herself and trying not to draw too much attention. 'Everytime I come to this damn place it gets worse', she thought bitterly and approached the bartender.

"What do you want?" the bartender asked gruffly and Tempest stared at the bartender, her eyes seeming to glow beneath the hood of her cloak. Tempest whispered softly inaudible words and the baretender's eyes went glassy and took on a dazed tone, which caused Tempest to smile faintly to herself. The bartender handed Tempest all the money he had aquired that morning and Tempest quickly hid the money beneath her cloak.

She took a step back and left the confused bartender behind, along with his customers. Tempest had no regrets using her powers to influence others, she only did what she needed to survive. Tempest left the building and walked down the street, glancing up at the sky where the sun was beating down mercilessly.

'Let's see how much I've earned this morning', she thought in an amused tone as she counted her money. Once finished Tempest tucked the money safely in her pocket and sighed softly in satisfaction. She pulled her hood down and continued to walk down the street enjoying the early morning breeze for now, knowing that at any instant everything could change.

Last edited by Lucifers_Angel on Thu Jul 29, 2010 1:56 pm, edited 1 time in total.

There is a HUGE difference between being a Bitch and being Independent I just happen to be a bit of both.

Marcey Viggio - Outside Somewhere in City - Status: Probably Lost - What is this?

Marcey walked along, her cleaver attached to her hip with a belt. Her long hair was all tied up as usual and her cookie basket under her arm. She had a bag of parts for her Grampee in her other hand. The list had taken her over a good chunk of the city and now she was lost. She smiled at the antics of a toy salesman and noticed a pair of raggedy stuffed bunnies, just like she and Roan had had when they were little and together. Sir? How much for that pair of bunnies? she asked pointing at the bunnies in question, They look like something I owned when I was younger. Also do you know where I could find someone to show me the way home? I'm kinda lost. She didn't have a lot of spare change, still paying for the magic in her arm and all, but... She knew she could pay for someone to show her home and maybe; just maybe, those bunnies

You... you really don't get it... do you? I... I love him... I'd die with him. Or for him. That's what you do... how you feel when you love someone. - Impulse

Kevin strode down the street, his scarf and jacket-ends billowing out behind him in the wind as he kept his head down and his hands in his jacket pockets, grinning ghastly at the crowd around him. He stopped in the middle of the street and calmly pulled out a box of cigarettes from his right trouser pocket as the crowd surged around him, a lone figure in a small pool of isolation as people pushed sideways against the crowd to give him his space. He pulled out a cigarette and stuffed the packet away again as he raised the cigarette to his teeth. He bit down upon it and cupped his spare hand around it as he moved his left hand to the end. He snapped his fingers and a small flame appeared above where his thumb and index finger where pressed together and held it to the cigarette until it took alight on it’s own.

He put his hands back into his jacket pockets, the flame having disappeared when the fingers separated, and began to walk down the street again as the smoke billowed out around him, quickly creating a small smoky trail at head height behind him. He stopped again and looked through the smoke that had, surprisingly, rapidly appeared around his head and covered his face, leaving a faint outline of a head and hat. He was currently studying a small beggar girl trying to sell tours around the city. He personally didn’t think she had a chance.

Poor brat, people don’t want to be led through the big city on their holidays by some scruffy little kid. They’re trying to enjoy their holiday, they don’t want to be brought down by hanging around with a dreg of society, ignorant bastards. He flicked up his collar, pulled his scarf around the bottom of his face, puffed out another few puffs to add to the cloud and walked over behind her.

He loomed over behind her and gave her a tap on the shoulder with a bony finger. Oi kid. He said deeply. I’ll give you a shilling if you find me something interesting to do. He rumbled as he pulled out a shilling and held it out to her. And don’t try running off or anything, cause I could reach out and grab you before you got three steps on those short little legs of yours. He said as he looked directly down at her through the grey smog.

=-"I'm sophisticated, charming, suave, and debonair, Professor. But I have never claimed to be civilized."

The bloody body hung limp from from it's claws. The body was that of a woman, her cloths, torn, her face, once one of such beauty, was now one of such gore and carnage. The creature holding her body was Gandora, a creature of pure destruction. "This one...is finished" With that, Gandora let the body fall, down to the streets below. Before anyone could look up at the falling body, Gandora was gone. Jumping down to the other side of the building, Gandora walked into a large crowd, it's blood lust sedated...for now. People tended to stare at Gandora, it's appearence frightining. Gandora didn't care however. All it cared about was destroying everything. As Gandora broke free from the crowd, it noticed a small, elf-like girl, in the middle of the street. She was was dirty, and looked frail, obviously homless. She woudl die soon anyways...perhaps it should put her out of her misery. Gandora held back for a moment, only to here her ask about a tour. Excellent. It Jumped onto a naerby roof as another person approched her. He asked for something interesting to do...Gandora had an idea. It would follow them, then slaughter the both of them before they even knew what hit them. And then drink the little girl's body dry of blood. Elf blood always tasted good. It would enjoy it.

You think your evil? You want to see real evil? Then allow me to educate you...

Paeter studied the drawing again. He looked through tiered eyes at his new caluculations, scribed onto a fresh parcment and back to the almost illegible text in the book he had work from. He looked at the device. Something was missing, denied by his inability to transalte the old tome into a moden equiverlant, Paeter had been forced to guess at certain aspect of his work and unfortunatly this fresh attempt to create such a wonder was failing. It was no good, he couldn't see where he had gone wrong; in his mind's eye all the pieces of the puzzel were in place, just maybee... maybee not in the right order..He glanced up as a shadow fluttered by part of the window that was not totally blacked out, noting the light grey of the morning washing over the sky and realised with a sigh that he had worked through the night once again. He shrugged and felt his muscle ache with exertion, looning for denied sleep. Without sleep he would not be able to focus and that was what his project needed, focus. Rubbing his eyes with gloved hands, Paeter looked about his small laboritory with disdane, curling his nose up at the smell he knew was there, but which he had become used to. Two bodies lay across connecting workbenches, surrounded by herbs, spices, intreging fluids and half read books. One of the bodies, headless and festering had numorus copper wire lines pocking in various points, all conected to a hand crank generator. The other was cut along the midsection with sergical presision, a medical journal opened on moden anatomy covering the ruder parts, not out of decency, but out of nessecity.Groaning to himself, Paeter thought of the unfavorable mood Bellise would be in if he had failed to find the method in which the girl had died and whether the rumors were true that something far worse that a vampire lurked the street. Yet, it would have to wait, he was far too tiered and he knew that something would undoubtably crop up soon that would destrub his needed rest.Throwin his apron on the stained caost stand by the back door, Paeter grabbed an odd looking tome, covered in dust and blood and headed through his palour towards the front hall and the stairs that would lead him to his bed. He made a mental note to leave the usual chalked sign on his back door that lead down to the trade canal latter to let Gallus or a minion o his know he was in need of another body. As he sheaded away his clothes from the previous day, Paeter noticed a few envelopes lying on his carpeted hall floor. He stooped and glanced through them as he dragged his complaing body up the shor staircase to the second floor. Most looked unimportant, comisions and bill probably, one had the destinct scraw and pink coloured writing of his no longer betrothed Candice of Fritte and the last almost shocked Paeter to stop, but by then his body was moving autominusly.He left most of the letters unopened on a dressing table on the upper hall, along with his trousers and headed to his room, slowly opening the last letter. He hated that Bellise. Now she was ruiening his mail too.

Small little creatre hyped up on red bull, will take over world... or explode on impact
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gerard awoke early like always. He preferred to leave early in the morning. He slowly reached to his chest, gently lifting the girls hand, and sliding out form under her grasp. It has been a good night, but as things were he preferred not to have that awkward morning conversation. Grabbing his pants off the floor, he slipped them on while looking around for the rest of his clothes. He noiselessly walked over to where his shirt lay, slipping it on, he grabbed his shoes and socks. Undoing the latch on the window he slipped out onto the second story. Grabbing a pipe, he slipped down to the ground in the Dawn light. A few people gave him a strange look, but he ignored them as he slipped his shoes on and headed off down the road back to his own home. Heading back to his hose he tried to straighten his clothing. His hair still ruffled, and his shirt wrinkled, made him look a bit rough around the edges, but still as a member of the upper middle class.

Turning onto a busy street, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. Looking up at the rooftops he saw something falling from the top. Something vaguely humanoid. A few steps later he was looking down at a mangled corpse along with a few villagers. "What a shame..." He commented under his breath as he looked upon her face. Two months ago he'd spent a night at her place. She was good, but not great. It was a shame she was gone. Someone called for the police, and he remembered seeing one walking down the previous street over. "I saw one the last street over, I'll go get him," Gerard said.

Taking a few steps away, he ran around the block to the officer stood talking with a young girl. "OFFICER!" He shouted out to the man. "Officer!" He approached the grey smog slowing down to a walk as he approached the man. "A body has been found the next street over." A few others from the next street over ran up as well a good 50 meters behind him also calling for the officer.

Enine would have said something to the little girl about how the rabbit the man was selling wasn't actually a rabbit. Enine would have asked the other little girl about a tour through the city. Enine would has laughed at the con-man's chance at swindling.

But he spotted something on the roof out-looking the street. Some strange creature covered in blood. He wasn't very hard to see considering the sky was bright even if the sun was covered.

"Just bloody great. . ." Enien thought, his plans were no doubt going to be ruined thanks to the appearance of this fool. Enine hated it on sight. What made Enine so angry was the fact that this thing didn't even have a sense for ordered chaos.

He would equate it to a stray dog with rabies. It had to be put down."Master, should I. . .?""No, wait and watch. . .we'll be rid of him soon enough."

A few of the folk in the crowd also began to notice, although they only looked nervously up at the figure and shuffled off. Most were still unaware. Enine was also aware of the conversation between the skeleton cop and the girl Enine was just about to ask for the tour. By then some other fool had come running up the street yelling for police. Enine said nothing, he only folded his arms and watched the scene unfold before him.

Even if his plans were ruined he could still manage to be entertained. Although Enine had a distinct hate for disordered chaos. Like a carnival game: there were chances where you could win, but most of the time it ended in horrible failure. That is what Enine equated disorderly chaos with. As such Enine would hate this creature, for he not only saw him as a perversion to Enine's own method, he also saw him as opposition. He'd have to deal with the fool if he wanted everything to work together, that or he could always integrate him into his plan. He looked stupid, but what did Enine know.

He turned his attention back to the vendor while keeping an eye on the other three. Entertainment was entertainment by all means.

Penna heard the ringing of the small shop bell as the first customer walked in. The girl raised her eyebrows slightly at his unusual attire, but kept her professional manner and did not comment. “Good morning, Sir. How may I help you?” She greeted him with a smile.

A new customer, she thought, not one of our regulars. And Angelo’s round the back, that’s good. He has a habit of scaring the new customers off.

“Well Sir,” she said in reply, grabbing a sheet of parchment and dabbing a pen into an inkwell, “Since you’re a new customer, we’ll be needing a few details. Firstly, what is you name, Sir? How long have you had the watch in question? Can you name the watchmaker or manufacturer you got it from, or alternatively the previous owner of said watch? When did you first notice it was broken, or alternatively when was the last time you saw it working? Oh, and can you please leave your contact details on this sheet, in case there should be any problems concerning the watch that we need to contact you over?”

After scribbling down some notes, Penna slid the parchment, pen and ink carefully over the counter towards him, waiting expectantly for his response.

~*~

Elizabeth (“Lizzie”) Taylor

…Also do you know where I could find someone to show me the way home? I'm kinda lost.

Lizzie’s ears picked up at this. “I can help you there, Miss,” she piped up, waving a hand at her and smiling. “A small price, and I can take you anywhere.”

She turned around as she felt a tap on her shoulder, staring at the intimidating figure before her. “Uh…” she looked a little frightened. Then her eyes fixed on the shilling like a magpie. Overcoming her fear, she was now very interested. “Something to do, Sir? I can give you a tour of the city, Sir,” she nodded eagerly, taking the shilling. With a hint of pride, she said, “I know all there is to know about Merchurdon. Where would y’like to go?...” Then she heard the call of ‘Officer’ and faltered.

Does this mean I lose out on the shilling? she wondered, uncertain. She waited to see what the skeleton man would do. She was also looking around to see if there were any more takers.

He had found him. The rich man. He could tell from the way he dressed, and how that woman with him acted. He may very well be the perfect schmuck to bait in. Just imagine the amount of dough he carried with him. But before he could attempt to reel the big fish in, something else caught his attention, a young women asking for the price of his bunnies. The man turned to her with interest, the rich man would have to wait. He could not simply ignore a customer interested in purchase, and this women seemed especially interested. Looking towards the pair of bunnies he nodded. "Ah! Those would be two shillings each my dear! But perhaps you would rather have a two for two?" he offered her.

Before he could answer her second some nitwit came around the corner calling for the "officer". 'Why this early?' he thought angrily. This was bad, real bad. It could hurt his business in more ways than one, and it didn't help there was an officer here. He'd have to take precautions. But what sort of knob head would murder in broad daylight? He had heard of many dumb criminals while living in the slums, but this one took the cake. He attempted to remain as the kind-looking vendor he was portraying, although he found it much harder now with an idiot on the loose. Well, he was not going to let him ruin his business. Today was too much of a good day to be spoiled.

The girl's question was answered for him by the waif-like tour guide. He smiled at the young one, it seemed like he wasn't the only one whose business was in jeopardy. "Well there you go" he said to Marcey, gesturing to the little girl. "Everything works out!" Of course, given the circumstances, he hardly believed the last line would be true at all, but he was an actor. Best not allow his customers be too roweled up.

Tempest watched with little to none interest as people hurried by trying to make a decent living. She turned the corner and saw a small little girl offering a tour of the city. She also noticed the skeleton cop and the small girl were having a conversation, but she wasn't close enough to make out an clear words. The smell of blood hit Tempest's nose and she grimaced slightly, but didn't look for its source. The less she knew, the less she'd have to involve herself with.

Tempest decided give the little girl a break, knowing how hard in was to survive in Myriat. She walked up to the girl and her customers without hesitation.

"So, how much for a tour?" she asked simply, while keeping her voice an even tone.

There is a HUGE difference between being a Bitch and being Independent I just happen to be a bit of both.

Even if the mood of environment was quickly being deflated (what with people starting to leave thanks to shouts of murder the street over) Enine sat and watched. If Abraham felt deflated, Enine felt disappointed. This was going to be a nice start to a good morning and it just had to be ruined by completely stupid timing, by a completely stupid creature.Leave it to this city to come up with something like that.

Enine gave out a large sigh as people turned their attention away from the vendor, and instead to the people yelling murder, I was natural to turn one's attention to the bigger deal. There were some peculiarities however, it seemed even in the sense of danger some people were acting quite calm that or quite twisted.

"What fool would go around asking for a tour when there's a murder about?""These people must be straight out of their minds to go walking around like nothing has happened." Enine said, indicating his confusion as to why everyone seemed to be asking a poor beggar girl for directions. Not only this, they had systemically ruined plans as well. It was maddening to Enine, maddening in the sense that Enine felt like strangling someone. Enine could feel his blood boil as they all asked.

"What? Did everyone pick today to develop a heart?" Enine said out-loud to no one in particular. Such instances of specific attention made Enine sick. These people were turning their attention to this one little girl out of the blue and yet discord and murder were being sewn as they spoke. Enine hated anything that he himself did not plan after-all.

The more people gathered around the girl, the more Enine became angry. Enine was going to ask the little girl for a tour, not because he felt pity for her, but because he really would have liked to research the street for later that night.

But it was not so, for not only were Enine's plans ruined thanks to the stupid imbecile on the roof over. But also because a random swath of people had ganged up on the little tourist all asking for the same stupid thing, again it made Enine furious that they had suddenly developed a heart right then and there. Not caring anymore for the vendor Enine put his rule-breaker on full blast, exposing the fools wares for all to see. Of course the crowd of people may have gotten angry, that or were still looking at the other incident. they could all rot in hell for all Enine cared. Deciding to forge his own path Enine simply walked up to the little tourist and flipped a shilling in her direction, murder or no, he wanted to get away from the area as soon as possible. Enine folded his arms and began taping his foot in impatience, his brooding angry look was still quite present on his face. 00 followed behind him, a solemn expression on hers.

Marcey smiled at the little girl. That would be perfect, luvvie. she said, reaching into her basket, Would you like a cookie or two? She pulled out a few cookies.Two for two? She asked, You mean both the bunnies for two shillings? she reached into her shoe, where her grandfather insisted she keep her smaller change. He reiterated again and again to keep her purse, with her larger coins, in her sleeve in a special hidden pocket. She pulled out four sixpence and gave them to the man, If that's not what you meant I can pay the other two shillings. She said seriously.Yup, she said innocently, Works out perfectly.Then all the glamours fell down and her face fell. Were... were the bunnies not real? She asked, her voice hurt. They reminded her of Roan...

You... you really don't get it... do you? I... I love him... I'd die with him. Or for him. That's what you do... how you feel when you love someone. - Impulse

Abe stared in anguish as his customers slowly dwindled away, all of their attention now focused on the little girl. She had successfully stolen away potential customers, and seemed to be making far more money than he. It was brilliant, yet it made him so angry. All that time spent on picking out the perfect costume, putting on the perfect face, practicing lines, wasted. Well at least he still had one customer left.

For the moment, he actually thought he had her. He almost did. She had already given him her sixpences. "Oh don't bother. This will do just fine!" he responded to her query, turning around to get the twin bunnies.

Someone or something had disrupted his illusions, and the junk that he was really selling was exposed to the angry eyes of the public. Immediately they began verbally attacking him. 'Everything works out... he thought in an ironic echo, through the many curses being slung at him. The two bunnies Marcey was interested laid there still, side-by-side, but horribly disfigured and not worth hardly anything at all. They looked like they went through a lot, saw a lot, but they were still bunnies. In fact everything was truly a toy as far as Abe was concern, just second handed. He absentmindedly pocketed the sixpences, a guilty smile on his face as he stared inside the eyes of all the angry people who dispersed on the spot, grumbling to themselves. His eyes rested on the charming young woman, Marcey, who looked dreadfully hurt.

He was at lost at what to do. Never before had his illusions failed him, he suspected somebody must of been behind it. The problem was who? There was no time to think about that. There was still that dreaded cop here, and the young woman looked like she was on the verge of tears. "I...I...please don't cry." he attempted to calm her down. He stole glances at the crowd every now and then before stealing a glance at his bike. He had to escape somehow, there was no safety in staying here. Too many people.

"I..gotta go." Without much of an afterthought the man made a run for it, mounting his bike and steering it out of the crowds, leaving both bunnies behind on the pavement. This day was not his day, what happened back their was a disaster. All he got out of it was four sixpences. Whoopee-Do. How he wanted to find someone to blame for this, and perhaps punish them for ruining his sale. He certainly could not blame himself. He had things planned out perfectly. Leave it to life to blow those plans apart. He turned a corner, determined to find a safe place where he could change out of this damned costume, hoping no one would follow him. If they did, well he knew the city just as much as the tour guide. He'll just have to improvise.

Gandora growled low in frustration. A crowd started to gather around it's prey. Gandora was not stupid, nor an imbecile, and defiantly not an idiot. It knew it’s prey had managed to allude it for the time being. “Lucky this time little one…very lucky indeed.” Gandora was about to leave the roof top in search for a new victim when it spotted something it didn’t like. Someone was watching it. Turning it’s head to the figure on the street, it let out another low growl, then a small laugh. This fool saw Gandora, but from what it could see, showed no fear. This intrigued and angered the beast, greatly so. Getting from it’s kneeling position, Gandora leapt to another roof, and then another, until it dropped down into a nearby ally. Finding a puddle of water, Gandora scooped some of the filthy water out, and washed some of the blood from it’s last victim off. There was still blood visible, just not as greatly obvious as it was before. “Now, to find a place to properly clean myself up.” Gandora exited the ally, and found the nearest tavern. Once it entered, it went up to the desk, a bought a room for the rest of the day. The clerk saw the blood on Gandora, but was to scared to comment. Even if the man had commented, it would not of mattered to Gandora. Call the authorities if you wish. It would just escape into the city. Once Gandora bought it’s room, it sat on the single bed, and ran a claw through it’s long hair. “I exist to destroy, and wreck havoc and carnage. I fear nothing, not even death itself…so why did that being anger me so, just by watching me? Could it be I was afraid of being caught? No. It could not have been…” With a dark rumble, Gandora ripped from of the sheet from the bed, and wiped the remaining blood from it’s body. It would rest here for the rest of the day. Once sun set…the hunt would be back on.

You think your evil? You want to see real evil? Then allow me to educate you...

A man walked into the tavern, a cloak over his face. He approached the masked man sitting at the table, and placed a drawing infront of him. "Your the one they called Death Stalker, aren't you?"The masked man looked from the drawing to the man, his eye full of interest. "That's correct." The masked man, Vincent, looked back down at the picture. "Good. I have a job for you. This man, I want him alive." Vincent stared at the picture for a moment. The man was young, in his early thrities, a scar running down the right side of his face. "It will cost you 100 shillings. Half now, half after the job." The hooded man reached into his cloak, and pulled out 50 shillings, and placed it on the table. Vincent picked up the pay, and placed it i his own cloak. Without saying a word, Vincent got up, and walked out of the tavern, the man's face burned into his memory. He was a bounty hunter, capturing and killing people for money. He did what he needed to in order to survive, in order to keep his promise. Vincent reached into hi scloak, and brought out a small portrait. A young girl, with long hair, a piercing gaze, and a kind smile was on the paper. "Happy 16th birthday sis." Vincent closed his eyes, and sighed heavily, his mask causing it to sound eerie. Placing the portait back in his cloak, and looked around. He could tell all he needed to know about his target from his picture. The scar indicated that he was a fighter, and from his age, he was a thug, he preyed on those less fortunate. He would be some where where there would be someone from him to prey on. He knew exactly where to find him.

It didn't take long. Vincent had found his target, and taken him down with ease. Still alive, Vincet 'escorted' him behind the tavern, where his client awaited. "There. Now, I'll take the rest of my pay." Vincent dropped the man to his clients feet. getting his pay, Vincent walked away from the scene. No doubt his client would do something to that man, and it wouldn;t be pleasent. His job was done though, so it didn't matter to him anymore. All that mattered was that he got his pay. Now, it was time for some food. Vincent reached the Market place, and eyed some venders. He finally chose on some bread, and bought a loaf. Now, he could relax.

You think your evil? You want to see real evil? Then allow me to educate you...

Paeter pulled himself out of the copper bath infront of the fire and gabbed the towel he had left for himself on a chair. Knowing he would not be bathing long, Paeter had filled it with only enough water to reach his hips, thus saving timeand effort. He dried himself quickly as his thoughts drifted to the letter he had recieved from the captian of the Black Watch; it had annoyed him considarably. The writting was almost illegeable in places with an informal tone that impressed upon Paeter tat it's writter did not think highly enough of him to take the time to write wih any ellagance. Yet, what infuriated him more was that instead of catching up on his despritly needed sleep, he was having to trapse across the city to go help raid/interogate/something within the commuity that would undoubtably turn against him, driving his custom away and possibly causing his reasearch problems.Heading for his closet, Paeter contimplated his options and didn't like anything he came up with, he grabbed a white shirt and some customary dark trousers before tearing his obssesing mind away from the complications with his new line of work and putting it to the good use of choising a wastcoat. Unfortunatly, in the end, he went simply for the electric blue one that complimented the 'uniform' that the other members of the Black Watch wore. Sticking out amongst some very nasty people, while peforming some unenjoyable tasks, was one way of attracting the wrong attention.Heading down stairs, paeter grabbed the other letters he had yet to peruse and slid them inside the desk draw of his writting table in his study. He exchanged the letters for a large, twin barrelled pistol that was remarkably similar in design to the upper class sport of double trap shooting peasants phesants.Leaving his study, Paeter withdrew his Black Watch trench coat and customised holster from the understairs cupbord and headed through his workshop towards the rear exist. He finished his attire off with his recently finished, green tinted googles and surgical tools.Chalking the back door with the customary '1 and 1' (One body out, one body in) Paeter made his way moodily towards the centeral markets.

Small little creatre hyped up on red bull, will take over world... or explode on impact
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He liked to put his gloves on first.With the underclothes is didn't matter as much, but he liked to avoid directly touching the suit himself, in the morning. Sure, it'd get dirty quickly enough, by one thing or another (likely Merchurdon's smog, in nothing else), but for John it had become a habit. These days, he tended to be a creature of habit. Wake up. Get partially dressed. Eat breakfast. Put on full suit. Walk around town. Possible check what's been happening. Collect his share of the "profits". Lunch, plans, whatever he feels like, dinner, amusement, sleep. Almost boring, but then again, the little things kept him happy. Seeing the faces of the poor and needy, groveling for scraps, as he walked by.... priceless. The fine food, delicious. Keeping up with his men on the street, nostalgic (And entertaining, he loved knowing things.) The fine women... you get the idea. To him, everything was his just reward from his labors, whatever the poor, "honest" folk might say.

Smiling to himself, he had almost adjusted his top hat just right, when something caught his eye. On the table, a neat stack of cards sat, their backs a mess of mystic symbols and age-dulled colors. Gritting his teeth, he strode over. Damnable things are a day early... It took him a few seconds to actually pick them up. John simply hated to touch them: he hadn't done it without gloves on in years. Every once in a while he'd destroy them, toss them, try slipping them on someone else. And yet they just kept returning. Irritated, and thinking to himself what to do with them, he failed to catch himself. He started to shuffle them. It was another habit, but this one he despised. His mother had taught him well enough he could do it practically without trying, and he hadn't forgiven her yet. By the time he noticed, he couldn't help himself. John was furious at himself for it, but he slowly began to lay down a few of the cards. They WERE good, and occasionally their guidance actually benefited him. This simple rationalization never worked for him though. Setting the deck down, he ever so slowly turned the cards in front of him over.

There were three tents on the field with all sorts of carts, cages, and crates scattered about. Two tents were as tall as three giraffes stack up on one another and as wide as six train carts, both a healthy shade of green. Now in front of those two tents was a small yellow tent and inside was William Livingstone, the ringmaster of this circus. He sat in a wooden chair with his legs crossed. In his hands was a newspaper and a cup of joe brewed by one of his favorite clowns. The newspaper was about yesterday's events in Merchurdon, looking for somewhere to start.

The imperium , the local ruff raft of the underworld , seem to be in charge of things from what William has gathered. Which explains, the high cost of staying and leaving. The locals are charging William a fee for being here, but if he decided to leave, he would have to pay an even higher fee to do so. He was screwed, but that's not what concerned him. The imperium, was what plagued his thoughts. They started a blood bath some time ago, rumors, that still linger speak of such an event also mention supernatural acts of horror. William takes a sip of his coffee. It was a cold day, with fog, so the stream of the hot beverage could be seen.

William rests his newspaper on a nearby table and picks up the letter from James. The time stamp on the letter, when it was mailed was after the blood bath occurred in Merchurdon. It could be assumed that James was a victim, either before or during the event, but either way, his time pieces have gone missing and supernatural things seemed to have happen. It certainly isn't a coincidence, that much is sure. Through the real question is does the Imperium have all of those time pieces, which might explain a few thing about some of the rumors he's heard, and if not, who does? William takes another sip of his coffee as he ponders his self asked question.

"Fate smiles on the strange. So its a good thing, I'm the strangest of all." - William Livingstone, Cirque de la Nuit

And so began another day for Adan, with a strange little tune in his head as soon as he awoke. It wasn't much, just a tune and the accompanying line, but it was enough to make it stick in Adan's mind like a mosquito in tree sap. Humming his newly-"created" song, he got up. He looked around him, at the tall trees providing the refuge of shade on this bright day. He decided that today was a wrapping day. So, after stretching the last of the drowsiness away, he untied the cloth sash around his waist, letting it fall to the ground. This opened up the very loose garment he had on, closer to a very short robe than a jacket. After removing said robe, he slipped out of his baggy pants, revealing his last "layer": a series of fabric strips wrapped entirely around his body, tightly enough to not show any skin, but loose enough to allow full mobility. He dusted off the clothing, and unraveled the cloak he had used as a pillow. He laid it out evenly, and put the now-neatly folded clothes on it. Then he looked around at the tree branches until he found what he was looking for, a bird's nest. Impossible to reach, most would think, unless you were actually capable of flight. Luckily for him...

A quick transformation later, he had gotten his "valuables." Really not much, some food, a few dollars, a few more shillings, a DIY leather water pouch, and, of course, his staff. But it was what he had in this world, and he was going to take care of it. so, he placed all of this on top of the clothes, and deftly tied the cloak into a quick and easy backpack. After putting it on, he switched to Land form and ran towards the city, planning to buy some supplies, maybe get some food to eat there, and scout out any places where parks could go.

-In Myriat-

Adan leaped from rooftop to rooftop, trying to keep as low as possible, so as to not be spotted. He leapt down in an alley behind the shop he wanted, un-transformed, and quickly unmade his backpack. After doing so, he remade it out of his sash, and put it on, swinging the cloak over his shoulders. And thus hidden, he walked out into the street as just another person. He went into the shop, bought what he wanted and paid without saying a word, as was his custom. Upon leaving the shop, he took out an apple he had just bought, and began munching on it as he walked the streets. However, his sharp eye spotted a shiny gleam amidst the dirt and gunk of the sewer. Going over to it, he picked it up and wiped it off, finding a nice, but broken pocket watch. Figuring it could come in handy to be able to tell exact times, he decided to go to a nearby clock shop and see if they could repair it. ((Here I come, Math/Doc.))

-Pemberton's Clock Making-

Adan opened the door gingerly, and stepped inside even more so. Feeling like the proverbial bull in the china shop, he looked around in what could only be described as awe at all of the clocks on the wall. The intricate details of the faces, the figurines that moved whenever the clock rang, everything seemed like a more incredible and powerful magic to him than his transformations ever could be. Adan looked at his rough, heavy hands, and tried to imagine himself making this kind of artwork. He couldn't. When he finally got over his culture shock, he looked for the main counter, only to find a..."gentleman" already being attended by the young lady manning it. Adan asked himself what would compel a man to dress as this one did, but couldn't find an answer. Throughout this whole thought process, and indeed, his whole day, Adan had been humming his tune without realizing it. Only here in the relative quiet of the shop did he finally hear himself, and decided to work out his creativity. He began actively humming, trying to do new things with the tune, switching tones, speeding up and slowing down, trying to continue making it up. Figuring it was best to wait his turn and give the strange man space, he decided to just sit on the floor of the shop and fiddle with the found watch and the tune until the young lady was free.